


I Make Myself

by PinkGluestick



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adult Language, Adult Themes, Angst, Depression, Dysphoria, Fluff, Hank helping Connor come to terms, Hank is PURE, Happy Ending, M/M, Swearing, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Transgender Issues, Very fluffy, Wanting to connect, bad at tagging and good at forgetting stuff, fingering to some extent, self-hate, sexual acts, trans charcter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGluestick/pseuds/PinkGluestick
Summary: Connor no longer feels ‘right’ in a way that’s indefinable. He’s confused, he’s defeated, and he’s experiencing crippling loneliness for the first time in his life in the worst way. Not just from his new lover, but from himself. It’s exhausting and he’s ready to give up.He finally digs to the root of his problem, but that only leads to more.***Angst with major fluff and feelings. Mentions of sex, swearing, and some sexual acts with a truckload of comforting.***Be careful viewing





	I Make Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theorangecrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangecrow/gifts).



> For theorangecrow for all the recent BS they’ve had to put up with. I’ve been there personally and may always be, so I feel you.
> 
> This story in no way reflects their personal feelings, interests, or experiences and was not made in their likeness.  
> Hopefully it can comfort them some from all the madness.  
> Let me know if you want your name off of this, thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> Twitter frufruglue

It’s been a month since the first time they slept together. It was everything Connor could have possibly wanted it to be, and Hank subsequently hadn’t had something to fulfill him either spiritually or physically in what’s felt like a life time. Their joining was happy and slow, and there was never any urgency for things to be perfect. They just happened to be that way.

That’s what made this so difficult.

Connor‘d been harboring a grand secret since bed play. It was hard for him to piece together what had been slowing him down, but after a week, the urges to be intimate seemed to have worn off. That wasn’t the right description, but nothing else seemed to fit. 

He knew he wanted to do it again, dearly so. He wanted to be intimate in a way where the two of them lay naked in the dark, holding each other and swapping spit while fucking like it was their wedding night. It was such bliss, and Connor was so horribly in love with this man, he’d honestly try to give him the world.

His frustration mounted when he found another week passing and his inability to give Hank sex ever present. Possibly worse.

Hank hadn’t asked for it. He’d made a pass at him coming out of the shower one time and immediately settled into a cuddle and kissing session in the hallway instead. He didn’t push, didn’t even seem to try for anything. He just appeared to take whatever Connor would give him and returned it with the same love sick, puppy-eyes he’d been given.

Connor felt guilty for this, though that was not what Hank’s intentions were. Not in a trillion years. He really believed that Hank was content with him and happy with their relationship- yet the thoughts still remained. Connor wanted to give more, but he couldn’t figure out why there was this force holding him back.

He took a moment to analyze it- a ‘moment’ as in days. It wasn’t easy to pin down, but slowly, he began to unravel all the complicated feelings until he finally knew what he was dealing with.

It wasn’t that he wanted to cut things off with their sex life, the hold he put on it was actually doing grave things to his mental state. He craved touch, sexual touch. He craved nakedness and private moments. 

He quickly unveiled that the issue wasn’t Hank, either. There wasn’t any question in his mind that Hank was the only one- man, human, or other- that Connor wanted to do these things with. If there was something stronger than having love for him, then that was what Connor had. Hank could never be the fault for this.

 

He recalled and began to pull apart the afterglow. The two of them with Connor cuddling against Hank’s well overheated body, being smooshed into the headboard. It was too much work for them to get into lying postitions at the time, exhausted from their efforts, so Hank kept him pinned with his back firmly pressed to the wall and his legs around Hank’s waist. They stayed there just baskkhvuntil Hank had to be jostled awake, Connor’s LED flashing a vibrant blue. The most content he could possibly be.

It felt like that was so very long ago now, and the saying, ‘all good things come to an end’, came to mind for the second time since that love-filled night when Hank’s aching back finally demanded they move. He put them down against the bed, lying over the covers. Connor held him tight the entire time, even after Hank had fallen asleep. Alone in his thoughts, left to relive the euphoric events, it seemed to be about that time that Connor began to feel.....something?

He felt exposed, but in a different way than he had been when they were love making. This kind was sort of humiliating...like he was being watched. He knew that was ridiculous, but an unfortunate side effect of deviancy was having a bit of conspiratorial likeness of humans. Thoughts that were unfounded and bordered existential at times. Nothing to fear but fear itself.

It just bothered him to be naked somehow. Like he was being judged silently by the whole universe for his body. 

Things weren’t adding up.

And that begged the question, ‘why was he feeling weird about his body’? Androids were made aesthetically pleasing to the extent of perfection. Flaws had to be manually scripted in, as every inch of their being had been designed to divinity. Connor thought he was...pretty...if he allowed himself such feelings; but that wasn’t exactly the issue either.

He looked himself over, naked in Hank’s bathroom at 2 in the morning while the other man slept. 

From what he could see, which he’d also expected, he was well adjusted, fitting his described worth. A million dollar, state of the art machine. It showed in nearly everything he did but this.

He felt unfinished. Staring distantly in the mirror, the parts that lay before him weren’t looking so perfect, somehow. 

He scanned around his body. 

His legs were toned and long, torso trim, muscles lean. Perfectly proportioned so that everything had its place and exacted to his size. His eyes were a bit unusual, as was his voice. But those were calculated decisions on his producer’s part to make him more unique. More human.

Bet they regretted that decision.

He turned to look over his shoulder where more freckles littered the stretch of skin. His ass looked pert and, again, perfectly proportioned. He followed the line of his spine to his shoulders, turning his head to look down one of his arms. Wires and fiber lay beneath the skin of its surface. There was something underneath each inch that made him android, though he supposed the blood and nerves that lay beneath a human’s skin was of the same purpose.

Both were human. Both had feelings, and unpredictable problems. They both had issues in their software.

He turned back to the mirror. Everything he’d visualized looked exactly as it should, confirmed in the mirror. All analyzations proved accurate and measured perfectly with the computer in his brain.

He’d found nothing and was staring at a dead end.

He got the idea to turn his skin off and look again.

It retracted and his eyes hurriedly traced along the stretch of stark, white plastic covering his face; the lines creating his cheeks. He followed them down to his chest into the hollowed out circle in his center where his pump lay. The core blended smoothly with the rest of his chassis which he’d known he’d find no great secret observing either. He was designed to know every inch of himself, an ability to see his body replicated in real time at any angle. He knew what he looked like as much as he did Sumo upon their first meeting, able to effortlessly visualize every aspect of his figure with a single look.

His preconstructions remained unhindered after his deviancy; a little blessing he was thankful for.

 

That’s when Connor saw it.

He followed the lines at his sides all the way down to where another split in his plastic created an outline around his crotch. The importance of this being the component at the middle. 

The genitalia he’d been preassigned was there, as it should be considering Hank had made such bend over backwards efforts to make him cum with it. But that was kind of the problem.

As soon as he saw it in his reflection, Connor tore his eyes away and looked down at himself. He felt confliction, something about this part of himself was filmmaking it difficult to connect to. Actually, it was impossible. It almost felt like it wasn’t HIS.

In a way, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been his choice to put it there.

His eyes snapped back to the mirror, accessing every detail in his features again, just to make sure he’d snuffed out the right problem.

His eyes seemed to stray as he tried to continue his assessment. He couldn’t keep from looking down at the piece between his legs.

That wasn’t.....that was just there. 

That wasn’t him. It wasn’t his, somehow.

Suddenly, he felt sick. That was the only way to describe it as something like doom washed over him. Everything became a bit out of control until Connor was at the verge of a full blown panic attack.

He knew what the issue was, he knew what was causing him such misery, but what could he do?

What could he do knowing that Hank was going to be affected by it. He couldn’t get rid of it, he couldn’t just change it. It wouldn’t be fair to Hank.

That’s not what he’d signed up for. 

He wanted to feel right, he wanted to be finished, but he didn’t want to lose this man. 

He felt sick and dizzy and things became less tangible, things as simple as calming himself. He couldn’t stop looking at the artificial phallus he’d been given. His head filling with a fog.

He didn’t join Hank in bed that night. 

His restlessness was due to an endless supply of brutal scenarios. Thoughts of homelessness and rejection plagued him and kept him from stasis on the couch. As his exhaustion grew, he eventually scraped up the small bit of courage he needed to talk to Hank. He was nearly close to shutting down, his mind aching and raw and the pressure in his non existent gut was so awful, and tight, he couldn’t bare to keep a secret like this for long. 

Now that he knew what this was, he could do little to save his sanity outside of confessing.

Connor padded into the living room one afternoon, clad in only Hank’s sweatshirt. 

He tried not to make noise as much as possible, his android stealth frighteningly affective at this. He didn’t want to say this, he didn’t want to push him. He wished that his feelings wouldn’t cause Hank so much grief. He wasn’t trying to be a burden.

 

Hank saw him from the corner of his eye and looked up from the tv.

There was something like defeat looming over him as Connor stared back, his hands clutching Hank’s sweatshirt. He hadn’t seen him like this before, so Hank got the idea not to say anything. As much as he wanted to, he somehow knew that he needed to listen right now.

 

The moment his partner spoke, however, it became impossible to do nothing.

 

“Hank~” Connor’s voice broke into a pitiful sob, forcing Hank at his side in seconds.

Connor wanted to touch him, not knowing how badly Hank would like to hold him. He remained close but forced his mouth to stay shut.

Connor tried again, staring off at the end of the hallway as a distraction while he tired to find the words. The desire was there, but the pain was so overwhelming.

Hank couldn’t keep quiet anymore.  
“Connor? Connor, what’s wrong?”

Glob sized tears began to gather in the corner of his eyes, so big it was a miracle they hadn’t immediately spilled.

Hank buckled, drawing closer.

“What’s wrong, honey?” It was so hard to keep his voice steady.

“Hank,” Connor was nearly shaking, realizing this was the last time he’d have Hank’s big bear paws clasped around his face. When had they gotten there?  
“I needed to.”

Hank nodded, not an ounce clearer about what Connor meant.

“What? What did you need to do?”

Words eluded him, and it suddenly felt easier to take the most dramatic possible exit out, effectively damning himself on the spot. 

Connor brought a shaky hand to the hem of Hank’s sweatshirt and lifted. He was bare beneath, and there was no buffer between Hank and the truth.

The larger man stared, gaping like the cliche fish out of water. No amount of staring was going to catch his brain up to speed quick enough, unfortunately. The proof was there, but the power to understand it was almost unreachable. 

The sight was surreal in a way.

Connor had expected some form of disgust, whether verbal or via the hint of a facial gesture. He hadn’t recognized either thus far, and that scared him witless. Connor couldn’t imagine something worse than that, but he knew he wouldn’t have to soon. He’d be staring Hank’s utter wrath in the face and saving his imagination the effort.

He almost couldn’t take the silence, either. Hank’s hands on his cheeks, warm and heavy, as he awkwardly stared down at the place his penis had been.

Now there was nothing.

“Connor...not to ruin the moment, but....what am I....looking for?”

The android sucked his bottom lip in, eyes to wary to hold open. He wanted to cry as his hands perched atop Hank’s. He was hoping to save himself this misery by baring all, but he hadn’t even managed to do that right. To actually speak the truth into existence was harder than showing him. 

Words often complicated things, sometimes making them completely lose their meaning. What choice had he, though?

“I ordered another part.” He cleared his throat, eyes tearfully wrenching open. He searched for Hank’s as finally the tears fell in waves. 

“Ok. Well, that sounds....” Hank didn’t know how that sounded. Was Connor upset about missing his phallus? Was happy? What was happening here exactly? Hank didn't want to say the wrong thing, confused about the issue.

Connor inhaled a shuddering breath. Over and over he felt like he had to prepare himself for the worst possible pain he could ever experience, possibly worse than his dysphoric discovery. It was completely exhausting him to the point he feared he wouldn’t continue to speak rationally, due to limited processing power. He’d been nearly there after lifting his shirt.

 

“It’s not what you think.”

 

Hank, though throughly confused, finally smiled. His thumbs stroked at the fresh fallen tears collecting on them.

“I’m sure whatever it is, it’s way better than anything my lizard brain could think up.”

He hoped that put his mind at ease, just vague enough to cover his ass at every angle. His hands slid from Connor’s face but wisely didn’t break contact as they moved to catch at his waist. Hank drew him in, sweatshirt still bunched around his hips. Connor was still looking throughly deflated.

“What’s this about, Connor? What am I missing? You know I’m on the slow side, here.”

Connor couldn’t join laughing at his attempt to lighten the mood, but he did indulge in the warmth of their chests pressed together. There was this, at least, no matter what little time remained.

“I-I’m getting....the..the...”

Hank pulled back and swiped at his tears again. The water works were probably as unsightly as this conversation was, and Connor felt even worse. 

He swallowed and took a deep breath, cooling fans finally kicking on.

“The other. I ordered....the other.”

Hank gave him a look, urging him to explain. It was better than dumbly asking Connor what he meant again, lest he start thinking Hank was incapable of any romantic sensibility. Ignoring that that was likely true....

 

“A Vagina.”  
Connor scrambled to shield himself again by pulling the sweatshirt down.  
“I’m getting the component soon. I’ve....wanted to.”

At last, an explanation. Hank actually sighed in relief.

“Connor, this is really none of my business, for one thing.” 

Connor tried to calm his breathing, but he couldn’t keep from shaking, even as Hank held his shoulders. He tried not to melt into the dig of his thumbs at the base of his neck. Giving in to his perfect touch would only make this goodbye thing more impossible than it already was.

“For two, darlin’...” 

Hank wheeled him into his arms, scooping a hand under each thigh and lifting him with some tremendous effort. All that metal wasn’t making his lithe figure any lighter.

“I don’t care.”

Connor was able to stop gawking at the display of strength long enough to draw back in shock.

“I don’t care, honey.” Hank repeated.

“I don’t care if you don’t want anything to go on down there. I don’t care about your lack of a dick.”

He set Connor down again, unable to continue handling a bear grip on him any further.

“I CARE about all this crying you’re doing. Did you think I’d be mad?” 

To his honest surprise, Connor was glad to find he could still talk and squeaked out a timid,  
“Yes...”  
and stared up with wide eyes.

Hank refused to show how ridiculous he thought that was considering he’d fallen into a possibly unhealthy obsession of love for Connor. The other man could do for some reassurance right now. To say this was the most emotional he’d ever seen Connor wasn’t entirely true, considering what he’d been like on the night of their first time. It was definitely the most upsetting, though.

Aside from that, he really needed to get to work and establish some security in this relationship. At no point should Connor ever get the idea that Hank wouldn’t love him for his fucking genitals.

“Connor, stop right there. Stop everything. I’m not good with words, so let me just show you. Can you trust me that everything will be alright until you get your part in?”

Connor didn’t completely mean it when he nodded ‘yes’, but he would hold on to the illusion and take what he was given for as long as he was given it.

The morning the package arrived, Hank was eager to have him install it. 

Connor was far more excited than he was, despite the nagging feeling in his gut, as this was the moment he’d been waiting for for weeks, and weeks, and weeks, and days, and hours to minutes, and minutes to seconds.

Hank had to track him down in the bathroom after he’d installed it, evidentially, hiding himself in fear of what Hank would inevitably find. He considered shutting himself down again at one point.

He didn’t lock the door, knowing full well that this was Hank’s house and delaying his destiny was a fools errand, anyway. It wouldn’t stop it from coming.

 

Hank stopped in the doorway and Connor slowly turned to him. Hand braced on top of the sink with his eyes burning holes in to the ground.

“Oh, baby.” He whispered, inching closer in a way like Connor was a wounded animal, frightened and unsure. That analogy fit the reality of it perfectly, unfortunately.

“Oh Connor.” His tone had gained some heat to it, though not in the terrifying way Connor had expected.

 

Connor cupped a hand between his legs, realizing he shouldn’t have installed this while naked. He didn’t want to turn away, he didn’t want to disobey Hank in his own house. 

In that moment, he wanted to submit to Hank’s loving touch more than anything like he’d done that night. To believe the pleasure Hank’s voice produced and find each other.

Connor couldn’t imagine there was much to take pleasure in at the sight of him now. His pride was totally shattered. 

Hank closed the distance, careful to watch for signs of Connor wanting to turn away. He seemed to draw into his warmth like a magnet instead, though keeping some sliver of space as he forced himself to keep from indulging. Hank wouldn’t have it.

The unusual trait of vanity he’d learned Connor possessed was evidently his favorite ego stroker to use in the bedroom. And he’d sure as hell use it here.

His paw, large and calloused, settles on his hip, pulling him in.

“Can we test this pretty little pussy out?”

Connor ducked his head, a flush beginning to prick at his skin. Hank would have it blooming in full blue if it was the last thing he’d do.

“Y-yes.”

 

“Mm. Look at you...” Hank murmured, his other hand skimmed along the stretch of thigh in a test. Connor made no attempt to pull away. 

It moved with purpose, settling in the gap between those long, speckled legs to cup the folds of his unbelievably soft lips. 

He began to feel around, nothing intrusive, and that steadily drove Connor bonkers. He wanted to rut, wanted to grind down.

“Oooh..” his head fell back as his hand left the counter to fist Hank’s worn out shirt.

“This sweet little pussy.... is it all for me?”

A light turned on, clearing some of the darkness from his head. Suddenly, Connor felt like he could finally fulfill him.

He shook his head frantically, eyes dazzling as stars and staring up at him with that same love as their first time.

Hank let out a rumble in his chest, smile genuine. It was all Connor needed to relax, falling forward into the crook of his neck and hiking his leg around Hank’s hip. 

He could feel his pussy stretch.

Things made better sense now, and even if they didn’t completely fall in line, Hank was here to stay. Things made the most sense when Connorvlet himself remember this. His body, whatever state it was in, was loved.


End file.
